


Hang Tight

by do_city



Category: The Expanse (TV)
Genre: Amos is a boss, Amos-centric, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Naomi is a boss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-07-30 00:13:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16275242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/do_city/pseuds/do_city
Summary: “Hey assholes, you gonna space us already or are you just giving us a tour of your shitty ship?”WIP





	Hang Tight

**Author's Note:**

> Ready for season 4 plz

 

“Keep fucking moving or I’ll put some new holes in your face, sa sa ke.”

Another day, another problem created by Holden’s insatiable need to rescue stranded ships. And this one was a total piece of shit. Exposed wiring, acid-stained grating, wall paneling practically rusted through with condensation. Bad air circulators, probably. Amos figured even Naomi would have a hard time keeping this bucket in the sky.

A shove in the back with a rifle butt kept Amos’ attention. The _Roci_ had swooped in to help what looked like a relief ship getting hit by pirates. Turned out, however, that the relief ship actually hired the smugglers because, hey, let’s split the return on resale for these supplies for Ganymede and get it all covered by some dumb-ass Earther corp insurance policy. Win-win for everyone except the _Roci_. And well, one million people on Ganymede.

“Hey assholes,” Amos turned towards their captors. “You gonna space us already or are you just giving us a tour of your shitty ship?” Turns out he’s got some feelings about supplies intended for Ganymede. Namely, that they should get to Ganymede. Holden elbowed him in the ribs.

“Shut up,” he hissed. “I got this handled.”

Amos never particularly liked Holden’s idea of ‘handled’. The shove from the assault rifle was a little sharper this time.

“Get these fuckin’ welwala to the brig, ke. We know this idiot,” someone poked Holden again. “He’s pissed off enough people that ‘e’s worth a pretty penny these days.”

“What about this one,” the pirate closest to Amos sneered at him, the tattoo across his face stretching as he smiled. “Need him for anything, beratna?” Amos gave him a blank look. One step closer and he could-

The pirate laughed, “Mi pensa you a little too pretty to space.”

Amos smirked. “Guess you’ll need to come closer and find out.”

The spacer’s smile grew bigger. Another shove and Holden and Amos were in the ship’s brig, the hatch shutting behind them with a clang. Amos sighed. Alex had promised they’d break into his stash of Martian whiskey tonight.

“Naomi, do you copy?” Holden snarled into their only comm. “Naomi. Alex. Do you copy.”

“Cap,” Amos said. “That’s a short range comm. If they have any sense they should’ve cleared-”

Holden glared at him. “ _Naomi. Alex. Do you copy_.”

Amos shrugged and looked around.

The brig was a tight fit, with one cot in the back and a couple bulbs of water underneath. Didn’t seem much point in lying down but didn’t seem to be much point to standing around either. Amos figured he’d take the opportunity. Nothing to do but wait until Naomi had a rescue plan anyway. Or some asshole tried to mess with them and he got to beat the shit out of someone.

He laid down and closed his eyes.

 

  
James Holden was quite aware of his tendency to throw himself into impossible situations, thank you very much. He liked to blame it on his parents - yes, all of them - and their stubborn belief that humanity deserved better. But he wasn’t stupid enough to think there wasn’t some narcissism involved, with a sprinkling of a few too many spaceforce movies as a kid. Either way, what he didn't understand was why Amos, impossibly practical Amos, kept letting himself get dragged along. Holden looked over where Amos was lying on the only cot in the room, his breathing deep and even with sleep. Naomi said Amos was trying to be better. Holden believed that only until the next brutal fight Amos picked station-side reminded him otherwise.

The distinctive stomp of magboots outside the hatch caught his attention. They'd been in here and out of contact from the _Roci_ for what he estimated to be about five hours, which suggested that Naomi and Alex had gotten the ship somewhere safe. This upped their chances of survival considerably. Alex was the best pilot in the system and Naomi was, well, Naomi. Holden smiled. Naomi negotiating with these pirates - he was looking forward to that.

"Sounds like Naomi opened a channel then," Amos said, as if he'd never been asleep.

"Seems like it," Holden agreed. "You get a good nap in the only bed?"

Amos ignored him and swung to his feet. "Should we take ‘em now or see what her play is?" His voice was flat, like he was asking how Holden wanted his coffee.

"Let's see her play."

"They might separate us," he said, moving to the edge of the hatch.

"Amos."

"Alright boss."

The hatch opened and a bristling crew of smugglers stood in the doorway. They were untrained and unprofessional, elbowing each other out of the way, the smiling belter at the front. Holden had a moment of regret not taking Amos up on his plan. They'd wait on Naomi.

"You," the smiling pirate barked, pointing at Holden. "Put these on that one." He tossed him a pair of cuffs, which fell in a slow arch in the half g. "And do it right or we'll taze you both."

Amos shrugged at Holden, holding out his wrists, placid surface over an always swirling sense of impending violence. Holden clicked on the restraints with a pang of regret.

Cuffs on, Amos turned to the pirates. "Took you long enough."

The spacer just smiled bigger. "Paxoníseki. You think you are dangerous here," he said slowly, enjoying himself. "But you are just a toy. A bargaining chip for real men. This one-" he gestured to Holden again, "Has people with big credits to answer to. You. Has nobody. We'll see what you're useful for, sa sa ke."

With that they dragged Amos out of the hatch, leaving Holden behind with his nerves. He hated being left behind. He had the passing thought that he missed an opportunity and that Amos, not him, would pay for it. He sent another silent prayer to Naomi’s belter gods, whoever they might be.

 

  
They marched him to the flight deck with only a few extra shoves in the kidneys.

"On your knees, Earther."

He took a long look around the nav center before sinking down on the hard grating, trying to get a sense of the crew numbers and ship layout.

The captain had the squat but lean build of someone Earther-born but belter-raised, topped with a thick head of white hair. He carried a baton in his right hand and a mean looking taser in his left. Well then. That was how this was going to go. Amos settled his weight across his knees.

The smiling spacer, the one who had taken a particular liking to Amos, whispered something in the man's ear before they both walked to the command center of the room. With the hiss of an opening channel, Naomi's face filled the front wall. It was good to see her. She practically glowed with fury.

"You have something that belongs to me," she snarled.

"Oh, this?" Someone grabbed Amos by the hair and lifted his face to the screen. He smiled apologetically at Naomi. She didn't blink. Good girl.

"You don't return my crew and I'll blow this entire ship to oblivion."

"There are things worse than death, Naomi Nagata." The grip on his hair tightened. The baton hooked onto his cuffs, pulling his weight forward, and he fell to his hands and knees. He braced himself but the baton was faster, coming down with a sharp crack across his left hand. He hissed in pain.

"You don't back that little stolen Martian gunship out of our faces and I'll torture this disposable welwala to death, throwing the pieces out the airlock as we go.”

Amos glanced at Naomi when a magboot heel stomped down on his broken hand. He could hear the bones in his hand snap like twigs. These. Fucking. Assholes.

“And- we’ll tightbeam it live directly to your quarters."

Hands pulled him back to his knees as he tried to cradle his hand against his chest. The baton trailed slowly along his arms, shoulders, to his face. A booted toe connected with his gut.

There was someone behind him and someone crowding in front of him, hands on his jaw, a pair of blunt thumbs forcing his mouth open. He tried to bite someone's hand and got a swing across the face with the baton. The pain blossomed and he fell heavily. The world narrowed in a rush.

They hauled him back up to his knees, and swung again. Someone was yelling. They pulled him back up. Swung. The pain was good. It kept his reality in focus.

"Enjoying this yet?" Hands in his hair again. He had a passing thought that he should remember to cut it.

And then his jaw was wedged open and the baton was shoved into his mouth.

"We could do this for a long time, Nagata." Naomi said something in response he couldn't quite hear, his ears ringing, the edge of his vision darkening. The baton slid across his teeth and rested heavy on his tongue.

"This bitch is shaking and we haven't even started." Were they talking about him? The baton heavy on his tongue and he tasted something - metal, salt?

“This is going to be fun.”

The baton hit the back of his throat.

The ship disappeared.

 

  
He was sitting at a kitchen table swinging his legs against the stool rungs, his feet too short to reach the ground. Late afternoon sunlight filtered in through yellowed curtains. In front of him, a bowl of oatmeal. A glass of water, mostly empty. His stomach burned but he wasn’t hungry. A woman’s blurred figure stood in front of the stove, a faded red hijab covering her hair. She was humming something. More than anything in the world he wanted her to turn around so he could see her face.

She said something. What was she saying. _Amos_. She said it again. _You need to put on your vac suit._

Amos opened his eyes to the blurry face of a concerned Jim Holden.

Jesus, he felt like shit.

"I gotta get you suited up, buddy. We're going for a spin." Amos tried to sit up, his whole face throbbing. Only one of his eyes seemed to be working.

"I checked you out. Superficial injuries - nothing the _Roci_ medbay won't fix."

"F-uck you," Amos croaked. "Superficial. Fuck." He spat out blood. Was it that bar fight on Tycho?

"We gotta get moving," Holden said. He tossed him his vac suit. "Apparently Naomi hacked the comms and told the whole crew she'd vent the ship if they didn't let us go." Right, pirates. Naomi. Fuck.

Amos tried to frown but his face didn't seem to be working. Was he putting it on backwards? This wasn't usually so difficult. Holden spun the suit in the right direction.

"Plus," Holden added. "It helped that apparently the captain is out of commission because you tried to eat his face." There was a note in his voice Amos couldn’t decipher.

"Huh." Amos looked down at his jumpsuit. "Explains all this blood though."

Holden frowned. "You don't remember?"

"Nah."

"You still got some-" Holden gestured around his own mouth and neck. "Blood. Um. Actually, on second thought just leave it. For effect."

Amos scratched at his beard, dried blood flaking off. "It's itchy."

Pounding on the hatch caught both their attention. Amos inspected the deep purple bruising of his hand with a detached frown. It was also about three sizes too large. “Not sure if I’m gonna be able to fit this in the suit, cap.”

“Just- hold on a second and I'll figure it out. Take your helmet.”

The smiling pirate at the front of the crew wasn't smiling this time. "Get moving, inya. Time to go."

Amos smiled back with all his teeth.

The pirate hustled the pair through the galleyway, the rest of his crew keeping their distance. Amos leaned heavily on Holden, his head still spinning, working to just put one foot in front of the other.

“You move slow, inner,” the pirate said.

“Tell your captain I said hi,” Amos said.

“Stop antagonizing him,” Holden hissed, picking up the pace. “We’re almost out of this.”

“Maybe listen to your bosmang, shorty.”

Amos almost never saw a fight he didn’t win. It wasn’t just that he was bigger and meaner than most. Rather, he didn’t carry the small piece of fear that slowed everyone else down; the fear that kept men posturing long after the first punch should have been thrown. Amos knew violence: could forecast its cresting tides, taste its impending presence in a room, discern intimately its flavors. He wielded brutality like the scalpel it was. Which meant, as a personal rule, he hit first and he hit hardest.

They needed to get off this ship before someone did something stupid. Before _he_ did something stupid. He took a breath and thought about all the things that were more important than kicking this smug piece of shit in the face: engine upgrades with Naomi, Alex’s lasagna, his almost completed Prax panels, visiting Mei on their next pass by Jupiter. More good than he’s ever had in his life.

Amos felt the hairs along his arms prickling in anticipation. At this moment, regardless of anything he did or did not do, they were in very real danger of being the target of a fragile belter ego stoked by a century of belter oppression. The walk passed in tense silence, the only noise their harsh breathing.

After far too long they were at the airlock, the doors opening with a pneumatic hiss. Finally. One more step and they were done with this mess.

Amos felt the wave crest and break against the shore.

“Sabaka. We let the inners step on our necks!”

Without another thought, Amos threw Holden into the airlock and slammed his fist against the cycling panel. One of them was getting out of this. Every port in the belt had a mean-looking mechanic to spare.

He turned as the pirate grabbed him by the shoulder straps of his vac suit and dragged him backward into the crowd. Swinging blindly with his good arm, he hit someone across the face. He swung again, missed and overbalanced, catching himself on the deck with his broken hand. He screamed, his vision exploding with stars.

The pirate pulled out his taser and smiled.

“Welwala always think they get away without punishment. Like every inner who ever hurt de belt! Not this time!”

Amos tried to stand. The taser went off. He dropped like a stone.

From the other side of the airlock, Holden pounded both fists against the doors, his screams silent. And then he was gone.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Also this is a WIP but I couldn't figure out how to indicate that anywhere. Second half coming.


End file.
